Angel of Music
by Loolabelle
Summary: How did House become House? His life story, from all different POV's. Please give it a try! Rating is subject to change at author's will. Chapter 11 corrected now! Sorry about that!
1. Dr Richard Adams

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 1**

_Carteret General Hospital_

_Cherry Point, North Carolina_

_June 11, 1959- May 28, 1960_

His birth was not the most memorable one of that year, nor even that month. It was 1959 and the baby boom was in full swing. I do remember it being unusually hot that day in June, though, and I felt bad for the women who were so heavily pregnant in that kind of heat. It wasn't memorable, but it was a close call. He was the second birth of the day for me and he was by far the harder of the two.

He was a breach birth, twisted all the way around with the umbilical cord wrapped tightly around his throat. I was worried for him, but more worried that I was going to lose his mother, too. Her name was Blythe and she was a very kind woman. I The nurses that were assisting tried to hold her hand and prepare her for the worst, but she was having none of it. She just gripped tightly onto the edge of the bed and tried not to scream with the ungodly pain. I worked hard to get the baby out before we lost them both and when he finally came out, he was as blue as the navy uniforms on the base nearby. I unwrapped the cord and cut it, but he didn't move. I tried to suction his lungs out, slapping him on the backside, hoping for some kind of movement, but there was nothing. He was cute for a newborn, small hands and feet, a birthmark already showing bright on his scalp. But he was already gone- there was nothing I could do.

"Dr. Adams? Um, I think you need to come over here…" one of the nurses, Laura, said and I looked over. Blythe was still bleeding heavily and I knew I needed to focus on her now. There was nothing to be done about the baby. I moved over to her to start stitching, but she became hysterical.

"Help him!" she yelled, but I ignored her, trying to focus on the bleeding. "I said help him!"

"I am sorry, Mrs. House. The baby is already g-." The rest of my sentence was drowned out suddenly by a loud, long wail coming from behind me. "Well, I'll be damned…" I muttered as one of the other nurses rushed to help the newborn.

"Dr. Adams?" she questioned as I began to stitch.

"Clean him up and give him to his mother. I will check him out in a minute." I said, glad that the area was finally clotting. The nurse, Rachel, followed my instructions, then handed the screaming baby to his relieved mother.

"Mrs. House, meet your baby boy." I heard Rachel say and I looked up. This was the reason I had gone into this field- the look of a mother the first time she saw her son. Just like her, I wondered what would become of this little being. What would he do with his life? Would he be president, an athlete, doctor, or would he go into the military like his father no doubt was? Who knew what would come of that little boy.

"Would you like me to contact the father?" Laura asked, but Blythe shook her head.

"He is busy at work right now. He…He will find out when he gets home." Blythe answered, confirming my suspicion that he was a military man. She seemed saddened by the fact that he wasn't there, but it was none of my business.

"What's his name, Mrs. House?" I asked as I finished up.

"Gregory. Gregory House."

There were only two obstetricians/pediatricians in Cherry Point at the time, and I was one of them. As a rule, if you delivered it, you took care of it after. So, I saw Blythe and Baby Gregory often after his birth. I was surprised at how healthy he was after such a difficult birth, but he seemed to be just fine. He grew at the correct pace, progressing faster than normal in intelligence, even. He rolled over when he was a week old, and started sitting up on his own at 4 months. I was pretty impressed and could see how proud Blythe was of her son. It was around this time that I met John House, his father.

"Major House, it is good to finally meet you." I said, entering the office. Generally, I liked the service men around us. They typically were nice guys and it was fun to see these normally tough guys get so worried over the smallest things regarding their children. John House, however, was not one of these guys. He looked more like the typical Marine, short hair, stern face- a hardass. "What seems to be the problem with little Greg today?"

"He won't shut up." The man growled at me and I looked away to roll my eyes. Oh yeah, a real sympathetic kinda guy. "Blythe is sick and made me bring him." He said and I nodded. The baby was awfully fussy and I saw him tug on his ear, a classic sign of an ear infection. I looked inside to confirm.

"He has an ear infection." I said and the major looked put out.

"How much is that gonna cost to fix?" he asked gruffly and I looked at him in surprise.

"Nothing. Just give him a few drops in the ear every six hours and he should get better in a few days." I replied, handing him a bottle of medicine.

"Look, all he does is scream- I can't get any sleep. Can't you just keep him here until he stops?" John asked and I frowned. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

"It's not serious enough to warrant a stay here, sir." I said, snapping the salutation out, irritated. This was his son for cryin' out loud! He glared at me and grabbed Greg.

"Fine. I'll let my wife deal with him. Thanks, Doc." He growled and left. All I could do was shake my head. Wow…some people…

The last time I saw Gregory House was a couple of weeks before they moved. I was amazed to hear he was already talking and even walking at only a year old.

"Hello, Greg." I said when I walked in. The little boy looked at me, blinking with his big blue eyes.

"Hello." He said in a small voice, moving closer to his mother.

"Gregory is here for his boosters." Blythe said, holding him close. " Remember what I said, Greg? Boosters are nothing to be afraid of. And I bet Dr. Adams will give you a piece of candy after we are finished." She said and he seemed little comforted by this information. I prepared the shots while she talked to him and just hoped that he would hold still long enough for me to administer them. Blythe distracted him with a small toy while I prepared his arm, the quickly injected the medicine. The boy jumped, but made no sound, which surprised me. Even the toughest of kids usually whimpered.

"That's it, Gregory. You did very well." I said and he gave me a half-smile. I let him pick out a lollipop (red cherry) and waved as the two left. I never saw any of them again, but I always wondered what became of little Gregory House.

_**A/N: Hey guys! So, what do you think of the beginning? I plan on going through his life up to the first season, first episode of the series. Some chapters will be shorter and some longer. BTW, I have nothing against military guys (I was raised by them!), so don't come after me. It was just part of the story. It wasn't me speaking, but Dr. Adams! Anyway, you know what to do: Read and Review please!**_


	2. Mrs Mary Ballard

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 2**

_Albany, New York_

_**June 11, 1960- November 17, 1963**_

_**Mrs. Mary Ballard**_

I'm probably biased, but Gregory was probably the smartest, most adorable child I have ever seen. I couldn't have been more excited when Blythe called to say that John had been transferred to the base on the other side of town and they would be here in a few days. I frantically cleaned and cooked, wanting everything to be just right for my daughter, her husband, and my grandchild.

"Mama, meet your grandson, Gregory." Blythe said, handing me the baby a few days later.

"Oma." He said shyly and I hugged him tightly to me.

"Hello, Gregory." I said. "Blythe, he is beautiful. Oh, look at those blue eyes! He is going to break a lot of hearts someday."

"Blythe, I need to go report in. Hello, Mary."

"John." I acknowledged. I had never really liked the man who had married my daughter. He always struck me as cold. He fought for our country, and for that I respected him, but I always thought that Blythe secretly didn't love him as much as she said.

"I'll be back in one hour. Be ready to go, there is a lot to do." He said and with that, he left. Blythe and I went inside and talked, cooing over Gregory. She told me about his birth and how intelligent he was, which I could already see as he toddled around. He was careful not to touch anything, which I found odd. Most babies his age would have been into everything. When he came to the upright in the corner, he stared at it curiously.

"Do you know what that is, Gregory?" I asked, walking over to him. He shook his head. "It's a piano. You can play music on it."

"Music?" he questioned and I sat on the bench. Picking him up, I sat him beside me.

"Listen." I said and played a simple tune. His eyes widened as he watched my fingers. "Would you like to try?" He nodded. Tentatively, he reached out and pressed a key, jumping at the sound. I waited and watched as he pushed the key again, then another one. "A regular Beethoven!" I praised and the boy smiled, even if he didn't get the reference yet. I was about to show him how to put notes together, but an angry car horn blared from outside. We hadn't realized how much time had passed while we were talking. Scooping Gregory up, I followed Blythe out the door.

"I told you to be ready! Get in the damn car!" John yelled. Blythe took the baby from me and, with an apologetic smile, left. I could hear John yelling all the way down the street.

I saw Gregory often once they had settled in. Blythe had me babysit for her at least once a week, usually at least two or three times, and I was happy to do it. He was a wonderfully behaved boy and it sometimes surprised me that he was not even two years old yet. Oh, he would play with his toys and get into mischief every once in a while, though it seemed like mischief found him more than he went looking for it. Once, while trying to help me bake, he managed to pull on a towel that had a bag of sugar sitting on it. When he pulled, the whole bag fell on top of him, creating a large, sticky, sweet mess. I had laughed and gone to wash him up. When John picked him up later, he was livid at the ruined clothes. But, all-in-all, he was quiet and content to keep to himself. The only thing that drew him out of his shell was when I played the piano. He would toddle over to me and watch in rapt fascination as my fingers moved over the ivory keys. Sometimes, he would reach up and try to play. I would stretch his tiny hands over the keys and show him how to properly play. He was very careful to do just as I said, pressing one key at a time. I could see the concentration in his little face, as if he wanted to feel and hear every nuance of the note. Obviously, he had a great love for music. I couldn't wait until he was big enough to start really teaching him how to play.

We celebrated his second birthday quietly. John was away on some training mission, so it was just Gregory, Blythe, and I. He seemed happy with his new toys, especially the tiny piano I had had made for him. He positioned his hands just as I had taught him, thrilled that he could reach the keys so well. Within a few weeks, he played his first song. I had taught him, "Mary Had A Little Lamb" and was amazed how easily he learned it. I told Blythe, who didn't believe me until she saw it for herself. She, of course, was as shocked and proud as I was. John, who was back by then, was less than impressed, however.

"How is that going to get him anywhere in life?" he sneered. I felt like slapping him.

"He is only two and can already play a song on the piano. Do you know how amazing that is?" I asked, but he just shrugged. From then on, I made sure to encourage Gregory as much as possible. If he stayed with me for a night, I would let him stay up as long as he liked, tinkering away on his small piano. By the time his third birthday rolled around, he had virtually mastered at least 8 nursery songs and was well on his way to learn much more difficult music. It was around this time that I saw the change coming over him.

I noticed it almost immediately. He was unusually quiet and refused to be pulled away from his piano. He had never been one to throw a temper tantrum, but if I or Blythe attempted to remove him from the miniscule baby grand, he shrieks would echo from one end of the house to the other. We quickly learned to give up until he was ready to leave. It was a terrible strain on Blythe, who would be late getting home to cook supper. That's when I started noticing the trouble he was having sitting down. I got a good look at his backside one night while drawing him a bath and instantly called Blythe.

"Blythe, I understand punishment, but this is too much. The child has welts!" I cried and I heard her sigh tiredly.

"John was just angry because dinner was late. Gregory had a fit and John spanked him."

"With what?"

"His belt, no different than what Dad did with me." She replied defensively.

"Your father never left marks on you, and certainly not when you were merely 3 years old!"

"John is the boy's father and he knows what is best for him."

"Father or not, if I ever see this child show up again with marks like this, he will not leave. He will stay here with me permanently." I said and hung up the phone on her. Checking on Gregory once more, I settled in for the night.

I never saw a mark on Gregory's body again because I never saw him again. I received a call a few days later from Blythe explaining that John had been suddenly reassigned to Egypt of all places. I begged her to let me keep the boy, but John refused. I knew it was because of me and what I had said that he was reassigned. He had asked for it and would not allow me to even say goodbye to my grandson. The only other time I saw him was a year later, not long before he turned five, and Blythe sent me a picture of him from Egypt…

_**A/N: Well, how was that? I am trying to keep in cannon as much as possible, but since House is all of 3, I supposed I can't be too far off. Review, please, so my muse doesn't shrivel up and die!**_


	3. Mostafa Sawalha

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 3**

_Giza, Egypt_

_**November 26, 1963- June 6, 1965**_

_**Mostafa Sawalha**_

The first time I saw Gregory House, I didn't think much of him. He was younger, much younger, than my normal students, scrawny, and far too quiet. I didn't trust quiet children, they were always the most trouble. I assumed he was like every other American child I had ever taught- quiet and calm when the parents were around, then little devils when we were alone. His parents, at lease his mother, wanted him to begin his formal education as soon as possible. Secretly, I disagreed, but if they wanted to pay me my extraordinary fee to babysit, then I would not complain. So, it was on a hot and dry day (as all days were in Egypt) when I walked into the small apartment and saw the child sitting in the chair. Hi light brown hair was buzz cut short, as was typical with the military children. When he looked at me, I was startled to see the brightest of blue eyes. It was a rare sight in this country.

"Hello, Gregory. I am Mostafa Sawalha. You may call me Mostafa. I will be your tutor while you are here." I said, setting down my bag and taking a seat in front of him. "You're mother has told me that you are a very smart young man. Is that true?"

"I suppose." He replied with a shrug.

"Good." I said with a sigh. "So, do you know how to read or write?"

"A little."

"Well, that's a start. Let's see how far along you are." I dug out a couple of children's books from my bag. They were probably above his level, but it was a good start. Handing him the first one, I instructed him to read it.

"_This is Joe. He likes to play in the sun. The sun is yellow. Joe likes yellow…" _he read and I was impressed. That was quite good for a boy of no more than 4.

"That's very good, Gregory. Very good." I praised, seeing a glimmer of hope. I handed him the second book which was a higher level.

"_Bobby rides his bicycle all day. His puppy, Rex, likes to run beside him. One day, Bobby and Rex went down to the river…" _

When he was finished with the book, I nodded with a smile. He really was a very smart boy. I grabbed a notepad and pen and instructed him to write his name. It was a little shaky, but legible. He would need some help with his handwriting. I also tested his math skills, which were almost as impressive as his reading level. By the end of our first session, I was actually looking forward to mentoring the young boy.

I tested his limits over the next couple of weeks and he never ceased to amaze me. I found that he was very introspective. He absorbed information and was able to repeat it back to me flawlessly. While I appreciated his hard work, I noticed that his learning was dispassionate and robotic. He enjoyed the learning well enough, but didn't care about the material. So, I decided to take a different approach.

"Gregory, is there anything that makes you really happy?" I asked one day about a month after we had begun. He frowned in confusion, so I elaborated. "Something that makes your heart warm, something that you ache to do every minute of every day."

"Piano." He said finally after a moment's pause. "My Oma taught me. I like to make music."

"Do you have a piano to play on?" I asked but he shook his head. I thought of the mosque a few blocks away that had a piano in it. "Well, perhaps I will be able to find one for you to play on." I saw him brighten immediately.

"Really?"

"I will try. Now, let's get back to work."

The first time I heard him play, I was impressed. It was rudimentary, but for such a young boy, he certainly had a good grasp on music. But what was the most interesting, most beautiful thing to see was how focused he was on the music. It seemed to envelope him, wrap him in a cocoon of comfort that I had never seen. And he gave himself over to it, surrendered to the joy of the notes around him. It might have been simple children's songs, but to him, it was a whole new world. I was no virtuoso, but I had learned the basics of the piano years before. So, I set out to teach Gregory, expand his knowledge past single-note playing. I wished he were older so that his fingers were longer, but he picked up on the chords easily enough and soon was able to play beyond novice level. I took him to the mosque twice a week after his regular lessons and I saw a difference in him every time. For a boy of barely 4, Gregory always seemed to have a thread of tension about him. He was easily frustrated when confronted with a difficult problem, though it made him work that much harder. But the music released him from that underlying strain.

After a couple of months had gone by, I realized that I was missing a perfect opportunity to teach my young pupil about the culture surrounding him. So, one day we went for a walk. I showed him the marketplace where the vendors were selling all sorts of wonderful things: textiles that the boy had never felt before, rich spices that burned the nose, gold jewelry with intricate designs, hookahs that burned sweet smelling opiates and tobacco, even novelty animals were for sale. Gregory was particularly taken with the monkeys that shrieked and ran up and down the poles that staked them to the ground. I decided to indulge him, though I bought him a fish instead of a monkey (I didn't believe his parents would have approved of the screeching thing). The fish was a simple, but beautiful goldfish. Gregory was glad for the gift and thanked me profusely as he carried the colorful creature back to his home. He announced proudly that he had named the fish, "Bogart."

* * *

If music was what calmed him, archaeology was what excited him. We never would have known if not for a new potential client at a nearby dig site. I needed to meet with the parents of another "genius child" and I thought it would be a good learning experience for the boy. I never dreamed it would change his life entirely.

"Dr. Jackson, a pleasure to finally meet you in person." I greeted, shaking the man's hand. "Pardon me, this is Gregory, my current pupil. I thought he might like to see the site."

"It is an amazing opportunity." Dr. Jackson replied with a smile. "My son, Danny, has been on digs since he was born."

"Gregory, why don't you go watch the workers for a few minutes while I speak with Dr. Jackson." I said and he walked away.

As we spoke, I watched Gregory from the corner of my eye. He was watching as one of the workers dug in the sand, tilling away in hopes of finding an artifact of some sort. He didn't seem very interested until I saw another boy of about his age, perhaps a little younger, approach him. I was able to hear their conversation and had to fight the urge to smile. The boy had dirty blonde hair and glasses that seemed to swallow his entire face. He was skinnier that Gregory, and not nearly as tall, but seemed to be close to the same age.

"Hello. I'm Danny." The boy said and Gregory looked down at him.

"Gregory." He replied disinterested.

"Isn't it neat?" Danny asked and Gregory shrugged.

"Not really. Why would anyone want to dig in the dirt?"

"To find artifacts!" Danny explained. "It's like a treasure hunt!"

"Treasure hunt? Like pirates?"

"Even better."

"Do you find gold?" Gregory asked, intrigued slightly.

"Sometimes. Usually, we find pieces of pottery and even mummies!"

"Mummies? Like, dead people?"

"Yep."

"I don't believe you. Show me one."

"I don't have one right here. We just found the opening of one of the tombs, though. I can show you that, but we can't go inside yet. It may be bobby-trapped."

"You mean 'booby-trapped'." Gregory corrected and Danny nodded. "Sure, why not. Mostafa, is it okay if we go look at the entrance of the tomb?"

"Yes, but don't get in anybody's way. And do not go inside." I replied and the boys ran off together.

When Dr. Jackson and I had finished our conversation and come to an agreement, I went in search of my young charge. I found the opening of the tomb, but the boys were nowhere to be seen. Dr. Jackson and I searched the entire dig site for them, and I was just starting to panic when I finally spotted them in one of the many deep holes. They were meticulously working to dig something up.

"Gregory, what are you doing?" I asked, horrified that they could be disturbing something important.

"Digging up artifacts!" He said, covered in thick dust and sweat. Dr. Jackson grinned from beside me.

"Don't worry, it is only a rock. We have already finished our search of this area. I allow Danny to dig here when I am busy." He said and I nodded, thankfully.

"Gregory, we have to go. You will be late for your evening meal." I said and he grudgingly climbed out of the pit.

"Can we come back tomorrow?" he asked and I smiled.

"Perhaps. Come, let us go get some food." I replied. The boys said goodbye as Dr. Jackson and I shook hands, then we left.

We went to the dig site at least once a week, usually at the end of the week, as a reward for his hard work in his studies. He and Danny would grab a set of old tools and immerse themselves in their own pit and dig until it was time to go home. It was good to see Gregory so excited about something, and I wondered if he would become an archaeologist someday.

* * *

One day, I had to break my engagement with Gregory due to illness. My chest was seizing and I had the most awful time catching my breath and simply could not make it. The sickness had a hold of me for a good couple of weeks, and yet no doctor could figure out the cause. I was fortunate to not be contagious and to have good friends who would visit and bring me sustenance. Even Gregory and his mother came to visit one day.

"I do hope you get well soon, Mr. Sawalha." Blythe House said. "Gregory certainly misses his lessons with you."

"I will do my best to get better by the end of this week, ma'am." I replied hoarsely. I looked over at Gregory, who was quietly roaming around the living room and looking at everything. I wondered if he had been to the dig site since I had fallen ill, but before I could ask, he had his own question for me.

"What is this, Mostafa?" he asked.

"That is a Hookah. It is for someone to smoke from." I explained.

"It is covered in dust."

"Yes, well, I haven't been able to use it for a while." I replied.

"Is it supposed to have that stuff in the bottom of it?" he asked and I looked closer. Inside was the residue, but it was a strange greenish-brown color.

"No…that is mold." I said, looking a bit closer. I was amazed at what he had found. Perhaps that was my problem to begin with…

I was well enough to go back to work a week later. Gregory was glad to see me, but he seemed down about something. I tried to pry it out of him all day, but he would just shake his head and change the subject. He was a master at deflection and usually it was so subtle that I didn't even notice until the point was moot. This time, however, I wasn't going to let it go.

"Come on, Gregory. Just tell me what is troubling you." I said and he sighed.

"Bogart is dead." He said and I could see how upset he was. I could tell there was more. I waited patiently and, sure enough, he finally blurted it out. "My dad flushed him away because I was bad."

"Oh, I'm sure that isn't what really happened." I replied, horrified at the thought.

"It is." He said, perturbed. "He said that I didn't deserve to own Bogart because I wouldn't eat my dinner. Mommy made fish and I didn't want to eat it, so Dad flushed him away." He said, trying so hard not to cry. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! How cruel could a man be? I wanted to hug the little boy, but I could see him trembling with tension that could snap at any moment. I just hope I wasn't around when it did. Instead, I patted him on the back and led him down the street. I had arranged for a surprise and hoped it would cheer him up. He didn't pay much attention to where we were going, just looked down at the pavement as we walked.

A few minutes later, we were standing at the dig site. He seemed to perk up when he saw Danny rushing over to him, grinning widely.

"Hello, Gregory!" He said cheerfully and Gregory smiled at him.

"Hello, Danny."

"Come on! You got a delivery today from the mail truck."

"A delivery?" I smiled as he looked at me, then they took off to the main tent. I followed at a more sedate pace and by the time I got there, he had already torn open the parcel. It was a set of archaeological tools, all hand carved and with his initials on the cover. He looked at me, eyes wide.

"Consider it a thank you and early birthday present gift from me." I said.

"Thank you." Gregory said softly, fingers tracing delicately over the handles of the various tools.

"Come on, Greg! Let's go try them out!" Danny said and, with a nod from me, the boys ran off to their pit. That was the first time I ever saw Gregory House truly and completely smile.

* * *

"My Dad has been reassigned back to the United States." I froze at the words and turned to look at him. It was only a few days before his sixth birthday and we had just left the mosque from what was to be our last piano lesson together.

"What? When?" I asked.

"Mom told me last night." He replied quietly. Our pace slowed, neither of us wanting to rush the walk.

"When do you leave?"

"Two days." He answered, sounding so much older than his mere five years. "Can I go say goodbye to Danny tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course." I said, crushed. Stopping completely, I turned and kneeled down to his level. "Gregory, I want you to know that I am always here for you to talk to. You can call or write anytime for any reason. I mean it- anything. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He said bravely. Impulsively, I pulled him into an embrace, clutching him tightly. At first, he was as stiff as a board against my chest, but gradually he relaxed and accepted the hug. When we pulled apart, I saw tears in his eyes, which he quickly scrubbed away. Wiping my own eyes, I stood and walked him home in silence.

The next day, I took him down to see Danny. The other boy was devastated, but tried not to cry. They went to their pit and worked until late in the afternoon. I was loathe to break them apart, but I knew he had to get home for evening meal. Gregory left with Danny's address in his pocket and a promise to write often.

They left early the next morning. Blythe thanked me while John just grunted and shook my hand briefly. Gregory just gave me a quick smile and climbed into the car. We had already said our goodbyes. I never saw him again, although he did keep his promise and write to Danny.

_**A/N: Okay, that was a really really long one just for you reviewers! What did you think? The next chapter will be from House's POV, but not in a normal way. Do you want me to post it? Let me know! **_


	4. House's Letters

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 4**

MCB Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

_**July 12, 1965- November 27, 1966**_

_**Gregory House- Letters to Danny**_

_July 12, 1965_

_Dear Danny,_

_Hello to you and Mostafa. My parents and I are back in the United States in North Carolina. It is hot here, but not like Egypt. It is hot and sticky. It is nice to see trees again. I miss Egypt. It was nice there, too. My mom said we might be here for a while and bought me a piano. It is very nice. I also will be going to a school next week. There will be other kids for me to play with. I don't think I will like it. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_

Gregory House

* * *

_October 9, 1965_

_Dear Danny,_

_I got your letter a few days ago. Thank you. I have been very busy here. School is boring. I was right, I don't like it. My teacher is nice. Her name is Ms. Lacey. The other kids are stupid, though. They can't read or write yet. I think they hate me because I am smart. Mostafa should come teach them. How is the dig? Have you found any mummies yet? I tried to dig here, but I got into trouble and was punished by my father. I won't do that again. I wish I had a dad like yours._

_Sincerely,_

Gregory House

* * *

_January 2, 1966_

_Dear Danny,_

_Hello to you and Mostafa. Thank you for the book about Egyptian gods, it was neat. Please tell Mostafa thank you for the book about how to read music. It was very nice and I already am learning it. School is still boring and the other kids hate me even more. I watch them during class and see things that they don't want me to see. When I tell them what I saw, they get mad. I think it is funny. I get in trouble a lot, but I don't do anything wrong .I do my homework and my tests, but Ms. Lacey is mean and says that I don't do it correctly. I take something called shortcuts. I hope you are well and that you had a good Christmas. I wish I was there._

_Sincerely,_

Gregory

* * *

_May 25, 1966_

_Dear Danny,_

_Hello. Yes, your writing is getting better. Please tell Mostafa that I am doing my best in school, but it is still very boring. I miss having him as my teacher. I did make a friend for a while. His name was Billy, but he got mad at me after I told him that his ears were too big. It wasn't a lie. He could probably fly with them. He said that I was mean and none of them liked me. I don't care, but we did get into a fight. When I went home I got into a lot more trouble. My father made me take a bath in really cold water. He said I was being bad and embarrassing him, so I needed to cool down. I hated it. It made my body hurt. Now I am sick, but he said that I have to go to school anyway. I miss Egypt. _

_Sincerely,_

Gregory

_July 6, 1966_

_Dear Danny,_

_I haven't gotten your letter to me yet, but I thought I would send this anyway. I was wondering if I could move back to Egypt and stay with you. Do you think your parents would let me? I could work for them in the pits. I hate it here. Please let me know what they say as soon as you can. _

Gregory

* * *

_November 27, 1965_

_Dear Danny,_

_I asked my dad if I could live with you. He got really mad and wouldn't let me back in the house for a few days. I guess I can't move back to Egypt. Thank you anyway. Oh, and we are moving again. I don't know where this time. _

Greg

* * *

_**A/N: Okay, I know this is a lot shorter than the last chapter, but don't worry, the next one will make up for it. What did you think of House's POV? It was really hard to write since it has been some 20 odd years since I was that age, and I wasn't even close to his intelligence. Anyway, let me know! And thank you guys sooooo much for the reviews! The more you review, the more my muse jabbers in my ear. **_


	5. Father Dominik Wilder

**A/N: LANGUAGE ALERT AHEAD: ONE WORD…**

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 5**

St. Matthews Church

Prince George County, Maryland

_**December 20, 1966- September, 1967**_

_**Father Dominik Wilder**_

I've met a lot of children in my 50 years as a priest. I've christened them, prayed for them, prayed with them, and buried them. But none has stuck out in my memory like Greg House. He was smart, perhaps too smart for his own good. It was almost Christmas the first time I saw him. His mother was practically dragging him into the church with a cut lip and magnificent bruise already forming on his eye. I assumed he was like most other boys his age and had gotten into a scuffle at school. His flustered mother nearly threw him into the pew while she crossed herself and sat to pray. Something about them drew my interest and I purposefully took my time collecting song books so that I could watch them.

"I don't know what else to do with you, Greg. I've tried reasoning with you, spoiling you, yelling at you, your father has tried punishing you- ."

"By punching me." The boy snapped and her face softened at that.

"He didn't mean to do that. He was just annoyed at what you said."

"Well, it's true. He does hate me."

"He does not. Your father loves you and just wants what is best for you." She replied and he looked away. "Now, pray for forgiveness for what you said, then I want you to talk to a priest about it. Maybe he can straighten you out, because I don't know what else can be done."

I waited around until they were finished with their prayers (though I saw the boy, Greg, staring at the pew in front of him more than praying), then went to introduce myself.

"Welcome to St. Matthew's. I am Father Dominik." I said quietly and the mother stood to shake my hand.

"Hello, Father. I'm Blythe House and this is my son, Gregory. We're from the base downtown." She said and I nodded. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Father, could you speak to Greg? He has been wreaking havoc for his father and me since we moved here a couple of months ago."

"Of course, I would be happy to." I replied and looked at the boy. "Greg, would you accompany me on a walk?" He looked like he was going to refuse, but a sharp look from his mother silenced him and he followed me out of the chapel. I took him outside where there was a basketball court. It was empty, so I grabbed a ball and tossed it to him. Nothing could relax young boys like a sport. Of course, Greg was no ordinary young boy.

"So, what seems to be going on?" I asked as he passed the ball back to me.

"Nothing."

"Come now, you seem like a bright kid."

"How do you know? You just met me." He replied and I nodded.

"True. Well, are you smart?"

"Yes."

"Then what's going on?"

"I told you. Nothing. I just don't like it here." He said, taking a shot (he missed).

"Why not?"

"Just don't." he said and I heard him clam up. Well, nuts…

I didn't get him to open up that day, nor in any of our other meetings for quite a while. He was truly a master of deflection. I spoke with Blythe and we agreed that Greg should come back and speak with me every week or two. With luck, and prayer, I could get him to open up to me. I tried not to push too hard, but I had a hard time getting him to trust me. So, I tried a different technique.

"Greg, what do you think about God?" I asked and he fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment.

"I don't know." He shrugged.

"Do you believe God exists?" I pressed and he shrugged again.

"Maybe."

"Do you think God wants you to be good?"

"I guess."

"Then why do you misbehave? Do you not like school?"

"It's boring. I don't like boring stuff."

"Is that why you cheat? You don't like the material? Don't understand it?" I tried.

"I understand it just fine." He snapped, throwing the basketball a little too hard. It bounced back at him and he dodged it neatly.

"Then why cheat?" I asked, retrieving it.

"To see what other kids' answers are."

"Don't you care about your grades?"

"No. And I don't believe God does, either." He said and I felt my eyebrows raise. Okay…

"What about your parents? They care about your grades. You get into trouble if you don't do well. Your father punishes you."

"My father punishes me anyway." He said coldly and I remembered the black eye and split lip from our first meeting.

"But he wouldn't have to punish you if you did well in school." I pointed out and he turned on me.

"My father doesn't care about my grades! He doesn't even care about me! If I do well, he finds another reason to punish me. He hates me!" he seethed and I had to take a step back from the fury coming from him.

"Greg, he doesn't-."

"He does! And I don't care. I hate him, too." He said, his blue eyes flashing with anger and honesty. "What does God think of that?" he challenged.

"He thinks you should pray and pray hard."

"Pray for what?"

"Forgiveness for you and for your father. He will help you." I said and he turned away.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"God teaches us that you should honor thy mother and father. If you ask for forgiveness, he will help you." He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then nodded.

"Fine. I'll try." He replied and I nodded.

The next time we met, I was running late. When I reached the chapel, I heard music being played and was surprised to find it was Greg at the piano. He was playing something soft and gentle- a lullaby of sorts, I thought.

"You play very well." I said and he turned, startled. "That was beautiful."

"Thank you." He replied politely. "This is a nice piano, but it's out of tune."

"I'll have someone check it out."

"God wouldn't want lousy music, huh?" He said and I smiled.

"No, I guess not. Speaking of which, did you do what I said?"

"Yeah. I tried."

"And?"

"And so far nothing has changed….but it hasn't gotten any worse."

"Well, that is a start! Keep doing it. God obviously loves you and your prayers. He gave you a wonderful gift, didn't he?"

"I guess."

"He did. What about school? How is it going?"

"It is still boring." He sighed. "It's too easy."

"What is? What subject?"

"Everything. Reading, math, writing…"

"Okay, so let's try and find a way to make it more interesting." I suggested and he frowned.

"How?"

"Well….let's see…." I thought for a moment, then smiled. "I know, do you know any other languages?"

"No."

"Okay, how about you learn one. Everything your teacher gives you, learn how to speak it or write it in a different language."

"What language?"

"How about Spanish? I have a book and dictionary that will help you in my office. I can lend it to you." I said and he shrugged.

"Sure. Why not?"

I was amazed at the difference the next time I saw Greg. He actually was grinning as I approached him, sitting on the piano bench and swinging his legs back and forth.

"I take it the Spanish idea is working?" I said, returning the smile.

"Yeah, it is. I did it with my homework for Reading."

"Perfect. And have you kept up on your prayers?"

"Yup. And my dad was actually nice to me last night. He said that I cleaned the dishes well."

"See! I told you praying would work!"

"Yeah, I guess it did." He replied, thoughtfully. Silently, I sent up thanks. Then remembered something.

"Greg, I would like for you to play the piano on Easter Sunday." I said and he looked at me in shock.

"The piano?"

"Yes. I want everyone to hear your gift from God. Would you do that for me?"

"I guess. What do you want me to play?"

"Well, I have some suggestions. Can you read music yet?"

"Yeah, some."

"Good! I'll let you pick one from my choices and you can play them." I said and he nodded slowly, but frowned. I could tell he wanted to ask something, but was nervous about the request. "What is it?"

"Well…could I try and write something of my own? I have been trying to and I think it would be nice."

"Of course! Your parents will be very proud of you."

"I hope so." He said quietly.

Easter was a big affair at St. Matthews, as it was at every other church. Many more people show up than at my normal sermons and I gave them everything I had. Finally, it was time for Greg to play. As I introduced him, I saw his parents sitting in a center pew and I nodded at them. Greg looked slightly nervous as he sat down at the piano. Taking a deep breath, he began to play. It was a simple melody, but it was beautiful. I found myself closing my eyes as the music washed over me. He truly was an angel at the piano…When the song closed on a quiet chord, the parishioners applauded loudly and I looked at Greg's parents once again. As predicted, his mother was absolutely alight with pride. His father, however, had a stony look on his face and was glaring at the boy. Greg's smile faltered when he saw John and he walked off the stage, crestfallen.

When everything was finished and everyone had left, I headed for my office. As I got close, I heard voices, though. I knew it was inappropriate, but I couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"…embarrass your mother and me? All you had to do was play one fucking song and you couldn't even do that right!" A man yelled. I didn't take much to figure out it was John House nor whom he was yelling at. Sure enough, I heard Greg a moment later.

"I did my best!" The boy insisted.

"Well then, your best sucks. And you suck at playing the piano." John spat.

"I don't suck! I wrote that song!"

"Yeah? Did you write a missed note in it?"

"I didn't miss a note! It was perfect!"

"I heard a missed note."

"No you didn't!" Greg yelled.

"Are you calling me a liar, boy?" John's voice was suddenly quiet- dangerous. I could almost hear Greg wanting to back track, but trying to be brave at the same time. I prayed he said the right thing.

"Yes." He replied and a millisecond later I heard the slap. I couldn't just stand there after that, so I walked in, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, hello, Colonel House! Greg! I didn't know you two were in here." I said, looking at the two. Greg refused to meet my eyes, one side of his face already bright red. John turned to me, though, chin in the air.

"We were just discussing Greg's song today. I apol-."

"It was very, very good. You did amazingly well, Greg!" I said. Greg didn't reply. I could see that this just made John angrier, so I continued before he could do anything about it. "I'm glad I ran into you. We are having an Easter egg hunt outside in an hour and-."

"Sorry. Already got plans. Come on, son." John grunted. He grabbed the back of Greg's neck and propelled him out of the office. I watched them go, sorry that there was nothing more I could do. I hoped God had listened to Greg's prayers closely and watched over him.

The pounding on the door later that night woke me from a sound sleep and I dragged myself to the door. There was a terrible storm outside and I wondered briefly who in the world would take a chance in that kind of weather.

"I trusted you!" Greg yelled, dripping from head to toe. I saw a deep bruise on his cheek and a small, but bleeding cut on his forehead. He was shivering, but I don't think he even noticed. "You said if I prayed that God would help me! You lied!"

"Greg, calm down. I didn't lie. How…how did you get here?"

"I ran."

"From the base? That's at least 15 blocks away!"

"Why didn't God help me?" he demanded, not being distracted.

"Greg, God moves in mysterious ways."

"So, you don't know." He deduced, sounding so much older that I forgot that I was talking to a boy that wasn't even 8 yet.

"No, I don't. God has his own agenda for us and we are not supposed to know what it is."

"I don't believe you. Praying didn't do any good. If God loves me so much, then why let us get hurt?" he asked, near tears. "It doesn't make any sense!"

"Not right now it doesn't, but it will someday."

"NO!" he yelled, angry again. "You said if I prayed God would help me! You lied! He didn't help me! He just made it worse! Mom said if I tried really hard Dad wouldn't get so angry at me all the time. She lied, too! WHY DOES EVERYONE LIE?" He screamed.

"Greg, calm down." I said. "Come inside and we can talk about this. God _will_ help you-."

"I don't think there even is a god." He said, suddenly quiet. I was shocked, too shocked to even reply and too shocked to stop him as he turned and walked away.

I tried to see him again. I went to the base to talk to him the next day, but he refused to see me. I begged him to open his door, to talk to me, but it was no use. For weeks, I prayed that he would come back, that he would take back what he said. His birthday came and went, I sent him a bible. It was left on my doorstep the next morning, unopened. I heard they moved sometime in September, but I never found out where to. Eventually, I gave up trying to contact him. I never have stopped praying for him, though.

_**A/N: Okay, so that was a difficult and slightly pivotal chapter, I think. What about you? Just a note, I was not raised Catholic, so if I messed something up, please forgive me. Remember, he is only 7-8, but he is waaaaay smart. Thank you sooo much for all the wonderful reviews, guys! It really does help a lot. The next chapter may take a couple of days to get up, I am still working on it and I have a full work day tomorrow. Review, please! Thanks!**_


	6. Paul Grady

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 6**

_**Morningside Elementary School,**_

_**Atlanta, Georgia**_

_**September, 1967- November 1, 1969**_

_**Paul Grady**_

I didn't really meet Greg House until he was almost 10 years old. He was in my class, but I didn't associate with him. He was the weird kid that everyone knows and laughs at, the one that barely speaks to anyone. When he did talk to one of us, he was a jerk. Finally, he was almost two years younger than everyone else. He had been skipped ahead by the school board. He was the butt of every joke and some of the meaner kids would do anything to get a rise out of him- not that it took much. He must have been in at least a dozen fights during that first year alone. Basically, he was the kid to avoid at all costs. So, it was with horror that I found out that he had been assigned as my lab partner in our science class. I begged our teacher to pair me with somebody else- _anybody_ else, but she refused and sent me back to my seat. I stomped back and plopped into my chair.

"Great." I sighed, crossing my arms. I shot him a glare and saw he wasn't even paying attention. He was busy doodling in a notebook, ignoring me entirely. Being the brat that I was, I said, "I'm going to get a new partner. My dad is a General and-."

"No, he's not." He said with a sigh and I narrowed my eyes. "You're wearing a gold chain that has turned your neck green, which means it's cheap. Generals make good money- their kids don't wear cheap jewelry. Especially something that makes them look like a girl."

"It was a gift…"

"Sure it was." He replied smugly.

"Shut up." I snapped and faced forward. I saw him shrug and continue doodling. And out of the corner of my eye, I swear I saw a grin, too.

* * *

We ignored each other as much a possible, only speaking when it was absolutely necessary. When we weren't in class, I made fun of him with my friends and told elaborate stories of how I bossed him around and made him do all the work. Of course, it wasn't true, but my friends bought it. He did his work and I did mine. Secretly, I had to admit that he was smart, though, and was able to keep up even better than me. Sometimes, I would glance over to see what his answers were and double check my own. When we were forced to talk, it was always in clipped tones and never pleasant.

"Give me that beaker." I grunted one day, reaching out for it. He ignored me. "Hey! I said give me the beaker."

"Get it yourself." He replied, continuing his part of the experiment. Glaring, I walked around the table and retrieved the beaker. On my way back around, however, I purposefully elbowed him in the back of the head. He jumped up immediately, fists clenched and ready to go. He was nearly a head shorter than me and I couldn't help but laugh at him, which just angered him further. But, before anything could happen, our teacher was there, standing between us.

"What is going on?" he asked and I looked down. But Greg just kept glaring at me.

"He hit me in the head"

"I did not!" I argued and I heard our teacher sigh.

"I don't care who did what. Greg, if you get into one more fight, you will be expelled. And Paul, if you think I won't call your father, you are sorely mistaken." He threatened. "Now, sit down and finish your work in peace." We sat down obediently, but when the teacher turned his back, I stuck out my tongue at Greg.

"Grow up." He sneered and went back to the project.

* * *

The next day, we ignored each other completely. We got our own supplies and, except for sharing a work station, acted like the other didn't exist. At one point, I went to get some towels, then returned and began my experiment. One part sodium, three parts water, one part-. I jumped back as the vials practically exploded, creating an eye watering cloud of white smoke. Everyone backed away from the table except Greg, who I could see was laughing hysterically. Angry, I shoved him off his seat and jumped on him. From there, fists began flying between us. I was surprised at how well he dodged my shots and how well his aim at me was.

The fight didn't last long. The teacher pulled us apart and quickly dragged us to the principal's office. My nose was bleeding, cheek bruised, and I could feel my bottom lip swelling. Greg looked like he had been caught in a heavy breeze and nothing more. Great, I was in trouble at school, would probably get in more trouble at home, and the little jerk didn't even have a scratch. We were taken in separately, Greg first, then me. We were both given in-school suspension (a new and favored form of torture in most schools at that time). When I came out, he was already gone.

The next day, we were led to a small, empty room at the end of the main hall. There were two desks facing each other in the middle of the room with nothing but white walls surrounding them.

"I want a one thousand word essay on why you should not have fought yesterday." The principal said and we both groaned. Sitting down, we sat in silence, staring at the blank paper in front of us. Sneaking a look at Greg, I felt pride at the sight of a dark bruise on his eye and a nasty cut on his lip. He was also cradling his arm. Strange, I thought, he wasn't bleeding or showing pain yesterday…Still, at least I got a few good licks in.

"Guess I got ya pretty good." I said proudly, baiting him.

"Yeah. Sure you did." He replied, not looking up. It made me angry to not get a rise out of him.

"Why are you such a jerk?" I asked hatefully.

"The same reason you are an idiot. Just born this way." He said, shooting me a glare. I gritted my teeth, stopping myself from jumping him again.

"I'm not an idiot."

"Then why do you look at my homework and then change your answers to match mine? Sounds pretty stupid to me." He said.

"I don't do that." I lied.

"Okay." He said with a shrug and I frowned. This was not going the way I wanted it to. I stared at the paper for a while, thinking how stupid the assignment was and how stupid Greg was…

* * *

The next day, we were in the same room, this time with a new assignment. The principal stood over us and frowned.

"This time, I want you to write 'I will not fight in school' one thousand times." He said and I had to stifle a groan. Sighing, I looked at Greg, who had laid his head back and was looking at the ceiling.

"This is all your fault." I said.

"How do you figure that?"

"You're the one who switched beakers on me- made my experiment explode."

"No, I didn't. You filled it from the wrong bottle.

"I filled it from the one with the blue cap."

"No, you filled it from the bottle with the purple cap." He said, as if talking to a stupid toddler. "Now, how did you get those two confused? Maybe you have trouble with colors?"

"How do you know?" I asked, surprised.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"I have trouble with certain colors. They look alike. So sue me."

"So, basically, we are stuck in this room because of a problem of yours." He said, finally looking at me.

"Fine. I'm sorry I blamed you and…" Cue light bulb coming on. "Wait, if you saw me grab the wrong bottle, why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought it would be fun to see what happened." He shrugged.

"So, it was your fault, too. You should have warned me. I could have been killed."

"No, you couldn't have. They aren't going to give kids stuff that could blow us up." He pointed out. Well…I hadn't thought of that…

"Well…the smoke _was_ pretty neat." I said and he grinned slightly.

"Yeah, it was." He replied. We fell silent again, but this time it was a comfortable silence. I looked at the paper still sitting blank in front of me.

"Man, I can't believe we have to write this sentence a thousand times."

"We don't."

"But, the principal said-."

"He said we had to write it a thousand times- not a thousand times _each_." He replied and I stared at him. "You write it five hundred times, I write it five hundred times. 500 + 500 = 1000."

"You really aren't as dumb as you look." I said with a smile and we began writing.

* * *

I can't say that Greg and I ended up good friends. We never hung out with the same people or even said hello to each other in the hall. I still laughed when my friends made fun of him behind his back. But after the two days we spent stuck in that room together, I have to admit that maybe- just maybe- I respected him just a little more.

But he was still a jerk.

* * *

_**A/N: So, what did you think? I know, a little shorter than most of the others, but I wanted to get it out to you so you didn't have to wait. Forgive me! Anyway, as always, thank you guys SO MUCH for the reviews…Middle school and high school coming up soon- I can't wait for those chapters! Review please!**_

_**PS- I feel that I may have unintentionally conveyed the wrong idea in the last chapter. I am aware that priests probably wouldn't treat House's situation like Father Dominik did, nor did House ever say that he was raised Catholic. However, I couldn't have House taken away by child services, and I needed some literary device to show why he is so anti-religion. Hence why Father Dominik did not report or take action. NOTHING against the Catholic Church, by any means. My apologies to anyone who took offense, none was meant. Enjoy the rest of the story!**_


	7. Greg House Age 11 to 12

**"Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 7**

_**Marine Corps Air Station Miramar**_

_**San Diego, CA**_

_**January 4, 1971- October 14,1971**_

_**Greg House (age 11-12)**_

Another school, another set of stupid kids for me to ignore. I was kind of glad that we moved so much, it saved on trying to make friends. Mom always asked if I had friends at school. Sometimes I tried to lie, but she could always tell when I did. "Why don't you try to be nice to them? If you are nice to them, then they will be nice to you." She would say and I would just nod and go about my business. They would never be nice- I was smarter than they were, and they were older. I missed being privately tutored. At least then I wasn't the youngest in the class- I was the oldest, in my mind. "Why would anyone want to be his friend anyway?" My father would say and I would just grit my teeth and walk away. I hated him and his games. He always tried to bait me into an argument so he could knock me around. Sometimes I fell for it, but I was learning. At least some of his old Marine friends were at this base, so he wasn't home enough to pay much attention to me.

When I first walked into my new class, I mentally groaned to myself. Great, older kids again. I could see the nasty grins and raised eyebrows and I wondered how many fights I would have to be in this time before they just left me alone. The teacher (I never could remember her name) directed me to a seat in the back and I made my way through the aisles. As I came to the empty seat in the back of the room, I saw her. Dark hair, green eyes, she was beautiful. I blinked as I sat down behind her. I could smell her soap- soft lavender, I guessed. The teacher waited for me to get my book and supplies out, then started the day's lessons, but I didn't pay any attention. I had learned it anyway at my last school. When she looked up and asked a question, the girl in front of me raised her hand and answered.

"Very good, Emily." The teacher praised and went on.

Emily.

I studied her every day- from behind during class and from afar when we were anywhere else. She was so pretty, I could think of little else. As usual, the other kids laughed and made their jokes, but for once I didn't care. I was totally focused on Emily and learning everything about her that I could. From what I heard, her mother was a nurse at the base and her father was in the Corp and they had been stationed there for about 3 years. Wow- three years was a long time. Must be nice. Building up my nerve, I talked to her sometimes, making jokes about the other kids and pointing out things about them that nobody else had noticed. She would smile and nod politely, but she never seemed more interested than that. Still, I thought of it as making progress.

At home, I would rush through my chores and homework, then run to the piano. I wanted to let Emily know how I felt about her and I thought that the perfect way would be through my music. It was my most powerful tool and I knew she wouldn't be able to resist me after she heard "her song". So, I began to write a song just for her. It had to be perfect, it had to speak to her like I couldn't.

"Hey, you're pretty good." A voice said from behind me one day and I turned. It was one of my father's friends, Colonel O'Neill. Politely, I thanked him (as I had been taught), then turned back to my music. I briefly wondered why he was at our house when my father wasn't, but I didn't think on the subject for long. I had a song to write. I heard him speaking to my mother in the kitchen, though didn't listen to them. After a while, I heard him leave. Good, at least there would be no more distractions.

"Today, we are going to learn about babies." The teacher said a couple of months later. Some of the kids groaned, some giggled, and most whispered. I just sighed and resumed my study of Emily. She was wearing a pretty green sweater that complimented her eyes that day. As I half-listened to Ms. Teacher (still didn't remember her name…), I tried to figure out the next part of my song. It had been tripping me up for weeks and it was really starting to annoy me. "Once the egg had been fertilized, the baby grows for a full 9 months- 40 weeks…" the teacher continued. I didn't bother taking notes. I knew I could always cheat. I had gotten pretty good at it over the years, so I didn't worry too much. Eggs, fertilizer, 9 months…got it. I tapped my fingers to the tune in my head, my short nails landing hard as I came to the abrupt end. "Three trimester, each with its own milestones and importance…" A flat, G, C sharp, back to A… "Your homework is to figure out when you were conceived." Great, just another thing to keep me from finishing Emily's Song.

I went home that day and ran to find a calendar. All I had to do was count back 40 weeks from my birthday- that shouldn't be hard. I found an old calendar of my father's in his office and, since he wouldn't be home for another two hours, I used it. It had notes in it and I noticed it was actually from around the time of my birth. Whatever, I needed to get this done so I could get to the piano…4, 8, 12, 16, 20, 24, 28, 32, 36, 40 …September 4, 1958. There, homework finished. As I put the calendar away carefully, I noticed the date and note beside it.

"Return home: September 28th." It read and I frowned. My father wasn't even home on the 4th of September. The other note read, "Training mission, Okinawa." Strange. I must have been born early, then. I had heard my mother say that I had been a difficult birth. That must have been why. Well, no need to worry over it. Off to finish my beautiful Emily's song.

As I neared the piano, I sighed. My mother was in the room. I hoped she didn't want to talk, but my hopes weren't answered.

"So, Greg…Valentine's Day is next week. Do you have anyone special to give a Valentine to?" she asked and I shrugged, but couldn't hide the blush on my cheeks. Dang! "Ooooh, tell me!" she prodded excitedly and I couldn't help but grin.

"Her name is Emily…" I said, telling her about about the angel that sat in front of me in school. Mom cooed and awed at the information, then hugged me. I still don't know why she was so happy, but I was glad to get the hug, anyway.

That night at dinner, we ate quietly. Of course, I rarely spoke when my father was around, anyway. Then, my mother broke the silence,

"Honey, did you know that Greg has a little girlfriend at school?" she said and I winced. Oh, this would open a whole new can of worms.

"Girlfriend, huh?" My father grunted and she nodded, smiling.

"She's not my girlfriend. I like her, but I don't know if she likes me back." I replied. "Her name is Emily."

"He is writing her a song for Valentine's Day." Mom added. Dad just kept eating. I had half-hoped he would give me some advice. Of course, that was the last thing he gave me.

"A song, huh? Sounds like something a fag would do." He said and I sighed.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind…" I muttered, jumping when his hand slapped down onto the table.

"You do not use that tone of voice with me!" he yelled and I froze. Great, I had pissed him off again. I stayed very still, hoping the moment would just pass by. It just wasn't my night, though. "Get out of here. If you are going to disrespect me like that, then you can disrespect me without food in your stomach- food that I provide for you! Now Go!" He yelled and I left the table. At least I had gotten a few bites in first. Oh well, I had a stash of food hidden under my bed anyway. I would just munch on it instead.

"Today, we are going to learn about genetics. Can anyone tell me what genetics are?" Teacher Whats-Her-Name asked. Well, at least it was something new to me, but I had other things on my mind. Today was Valentine's Day and after lunch, we would all be exchanging Valentine's. My song wasn't ready, much to my dismay, but I had made Emily a card instead. It was a big heart with red paper and white lace over it. On the back, I had written, "Emily- You are very pretty. I am glad we are friends. Would you be my Valentine? Love, Greg." I hoped she liked it.

When the time finally came, I stood and sucked up as much courage as I could and handed her the Valentine.

"Oh…thank you, Greg." She said and I thrilled at hearing my name from her. "Um, nice card."

"You're welcome." I replied in a squeaky voice. "So, will you be my Valentine?"

"Um….sure. Why not?" she said hesitantly and I smiled. Leaning forward, I puckered my lips for a kiss just as I had seen in the movies. "Uh, what are you doing?" she asked and I opened my eyes.

"I was hoping for a kiss. You said you would be my Valentine." I said and she wrinkled her nose.

"I'm not going to kiss you. You're, like, 8 or something…" she said and my jaw dropped.

"I'm not 8! I'm almost 12!" I said.

"And I'm almost 13. You're too young for me. Besides, you're nice and all, but…well, you're kind of _weird_."

That afternoon as I walked home, I realized why people used the term "Crush". I was miserable. I almost wished my father would turn up and kick me around a little- it would hurt less. I walked slowly, hoping to avoid any other kids that would no doubt tease me mercilessly about what had happened in school. As I walked, I heard a car horn from behind me and I turned around.

"Greg! Hey, I thought that was you!" Colonel O'Neill said from the driver's side window.

"Hello, Colonel O'Neill." I replied quietly.

"You going home?"

"Yes, sir."

"Want a ride?" It thought about it for a moment and shrugged. At least I could avoid the other kids this way. Climbing in, I sat staring at my shoes, willing the floorboards to swallow me up and never let me come out. "Rough day?"

"Yes, sir." I replied, not really wanting to talk about it. I could feel him studying me closely.

"Women. Can't live with them, can't live without them, huh?" he said and I looked up in surprise.

"How did you know?" I asked and he smiled.

"I know what it feels like. Don't worry, we all do. What did she do? Refuse to kiss you or try to kiss you?"

"She refused." I muttered, wanting to cry, but I had stopped that a long time ago. I felt him pull up in front of my house and stop the car, turning towards me.

"Listen, Greg, this may be your father's place to talk to you about women, but since he isn't here right now, I'll let you in on a little secret." He said and I listened closely, looking into his kind blue eyes. "Women are strange and confusing creatures. They never know what they want, so you never know, either. You just have to keep trying. Maybe not with the same one, but eventually you will find one that you love enough to put up with all of their confusing crap. But, funny enough, you will never be able to figure them out- not tomorrow or in 50 years. Don't beat yourself up about it, okay?"

"Okay."

"And remember: it isn't your fault and it is just as well that she turned you down. She doesn't deserve you." And there it was. She didn't deserve me, she didn't deserve the song…I felt the anger well up in me. How could I have been so stupid to fall for her? Smiling at Colonel O'Neill, I nodded.

"Thank you, sir. I will remember that." I said, feeling better. He smiled back, tousled my head and sent me on my way. I ran in the house and up to my room- completely ignoring the piano for that day.

The next day, I walked into the classroom with my head held high. There were whispers and giggles, but I ignored them and headed for my seat. As I walked by Emily, I didn't even look at her. Colonel O'Neill was right, she didn't deserve me. As I sat behind her, I realized her hair wasn't nearly as shiny and soft looking as I had thought before and I sneered to myself. The teacher began the lesson and Emily turned to face me.

"Hey, I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to make you feel bad." She said.

"You didn't." I replied, not looking at her.

"Well, I mean, you are a little weird, but…"

"And you are a spoiled brat who will probably hit your prime in high school and never amount to anything for the rest of your life. I, however, will go on to bigger and better things than you could ever offer me." I said coldly (I had practiced the night before on exactly what I wanted to say to her.). Cheeks burning bright red, she quickly turned back around and I grinned to myself, feeling much better. She never spoke to me again. And I didn't care.

Stupid, stupid stupid! I couldn't believe I could forget about our science test! It was over genetics and I didn't know a thing about any of it. Maybe I could cheat me way through it- we all sat pretty close together and I was pretty good at it by now. I just needed to cram a little beforehand, just in case…Okay, brown is dominant. Blue and blue eyes make blue- brown and blue make brown- brown and brown make blue…For an example (because Ms. Teacher Lady LOVED examples…) my mother has blue eyes and my father has brown, so that means….wait….but I have blue eyes. How did that work? That can't be right. Oh man, was I going to fail this test. I could already feel my backside burning from the whipping I would get from this…

Summer came faster than I cared for and I found myself stuck at home. No school meant extra chores, so I became easy child labor. I mowed, trimmed, painted, weeded, raked, and a multitude of other things that every kid hates to do. I was careful to do it correctly so I wouldn't have to do it again when my father got home. Night was reserved for washing the dishes and reading books. I could never relax. I almost missed school after a couple of weeks. The difference this summer, however, was that I was on a mission. I hadn't forgotten the lesson on genetics from class and I wondered about the difference between me and what the book discussed. I couldn't quite understand everything that the science books at the library said, but I knew that I should not have been born with blue eyes. I should have been born with brown eyes since my father had brown eyes. But every time I saw myself in the mirror, I saw the cerulean orbs staring back at me, defying science. That was when I started noticing the differences between my father and myself. His eyes were different, his chin, nose, even his ears. We did have brown hair, but that was about as far as the similarities went.

It was a month after my birthday that I finally came to the conclusion that John House was not my father. There was just too much evidence against it, especially the fact that he wasn't even home when I had been conceived. I briefly wondered who was my father, but the chances of finding out were slim to none. It wasn't like I could walk up to my mother and ask who she had been with (yuck!) other than John. Oh, I didn't call him John, not to his face, but in my mind, he permanently became "John" and not "Dad" or "Father". The realization made me almost giddy, though I couldn't understand why.

Then the day came that I just couldn't hold it in anymore. I had just finished cleaning the garage out when John came home and nearly ran me over with the car. Getting out, he looked around and growled.

"What the hell is this? I thought I said to clean this place, not mess it up even more!" he ranted and I glared.

"I did clean it! I pulled everything out, organized it, and put it back in!" I replied angrily. I had worked hard that day and was tired and not in the mood for his games.

"No, you did not organize it! And I can still see dirt on everything! God dammit, I ask you to do one simple thing and you just fuck it up!"

"I did not! It looks fine!" I yelled and he stormed up to me, face red.

"Do not speak to me like that in my house! I am your father and you will NOT disrespect me like that!" he yelled.

"You are not my father! I figured it all out!"

"Oh, you figured it all out, huh? You think you are so smart, huh?"

"You weren't even here when I was conceived. You were in Japan! So, yeah, I guess I am smart! At least, smarter than you!" I was amazed that I was able to get the words out before the back of his hand found my jaw and sent me sprawling. I expected more, a few good kicks, some more punches, anything. But he just turned and walked inside.

Things were quiet in our home for the next several weeks, namely because John refused to speak to me. The only correspondence I received were notes under my door in the morning, instructing me on what to do that day. The chores got progressively harder and harder, but not once did I complain. Truth be known, the silence was almost scarier than the yelling. I never knew if he was about to explode or not. I stayed out of his way and he stayed away from me.

One morning, at breakfast, my mother made a comment about how I needed a haircut and asked my father if he could take me. He quickly made up and excuse, saying that he had a meeting with the General that day and couldn't break it. Mom couldn't take me either, busy with a bake sale to help with the wives of fallen soldiers. I said that I could take myself, but Mom refused. For a moment, I thought my father would finally break down and talk to me, but he looked at my mother.

""Jack O'Neill said something about getting his hair cut on Thursdays. Maybe he could take the boy." The Boy. That was how he referred to me at that time. Not Greg. The Boy. I saw my mother fall silent and nod.

"That sounds good."

"I'll call him up. Oh, and it comes out of The Boy's allowance. He needs to learn to appreciate things like money and food and a roof over his head more." John said and I glared, but I didn't say anything. Fine, if he wanted to go back to the games. My mother looked at me and I just nodded.

That afternoon, Colonel O'Neill picked me up and was glad to take me to the barber. As we sat in the chairs, he asked me about school that was coming up and other small talk. I answered politely, keeping it light. I liked Colonel O'Neill, he treated me like a human. Not like John treated me. As the barber was finishing up, I heard him grunt.

"That's odd." He said.

"What?"

"Well, you two have identical birthmarks on your heads. That is unusual." He replied and Colonel O'Neill and I looked at each other.

"Neat!" I said and he grinned. We paid (well, Colonel O'Neill paid for mine and his both, which I was thankful for) and he drove me back. As we pulled up in front of the house, I looked into his kind blue eyes, so similar to someone else's I knew, and thanked him. I rushed inside and went to the mirror to see my new haircut (buzz cut, as usual, but I still wanted to see it). That was when I noticed it. Blue eyes…Blue and blue make blue. The scalp mark, blue eyes…even the nose was the same…

We moved three weeks later, just as school was starting, with Ms. Teacher- I-Will-Never-Remember teaching the same class of stupid kids…

_**A/N: Okay, I can't say that I am thrilled with this chapter, but my husband swears it is good. What do YOU guys think? Sorry it took so long to get up- the Migraine Fairy visited a couple of nights ago and beat me over the head with her wand, then I was busy writing this chapter. Anyway, Review please! Oh! And, sorry for the language. I am going to change the rating and the summary, just so you know. Isn't John and ass for making me change my nice K rating? Love ya guys!**_


	8. Blythe House

**"Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 8**

_**Marine Corps Air Station **_

_**Okinawa, Japan**_

_**November 15, 1972- August 23, 1973**_

_**Blythe House**_

I always knew Greg was brilliant, he had always been above average for his age. John always said that I was biased because I am his mother, but I knew the truth. No little boy taught himself two different languages (Spanish and Portuguese) by the age of 12 without help from a tutor. I still don't know how he did it, but I was amazed by it. In fact, the only time we ever got him a tutor was when we were in Japan.

"We are not getting him a tutor to learn Japanese! Why would he even want to talk like a Jap?" John asked angrily.

"You said that we might be here for a while and he has such an aptitude for language that I thought that this would be a wonderful opportunity for him." I said.

"I want to learn it!" Greg said from beside me and his father turned to glare at him. Oh, please, I prayed, don't let this become another fight. Before John could blow up, I continued.

"See? He wants to learn. You want your son to be smart, don't you? So, we will get him a tutor." I said with finality. John wanted to argue, I could see it in his eyes, but he never argued with me. Oh, if he and Greg could just do that…

"Fine. Get him a tutor. See if I care." He grumbled and stalked out of the room. I grinned at Greg and told him to go to his room and unpack the rest of his things. We had been there for a month and there were still boxes piled in the corner. I swear, that boy…

So, we hired a tutor. She was a very sweet lady named Kana Kato. She was a teacher by profession, but she had just had a baby a couple of month before, so she wanted to stay closer to home. So, she had started taking on tutoring jobs with the American kids that came to the base. At first, Greg didn't like her (though I couldn't imagine why), but whenever he was around his father, he would brag about how wonderful his classes were going, just to irritate the man. They would argue frequently and I hated how they would both say or do things just to anger the other. But, it was the man's job to raise his son as he saw fit. It wasn't my place to say how to do it. The woman's job was to keep a happy home as much as possible and no more. So, when Greg began speaking in first broken, then entirely in Japanese, I turned a blind eye to John's rage. It continued for many months, Greg saying things that neither of us could understand, but would make John fit to be tied.

* * *

One day, his tutor didn't show for their regular lesson. Worried, I called her home and a young boy answered.

"Moshimoshi"

"Yes, um, hello, this is Blythe House. I am looking for Kana Kato?"

"This is her son, Riku. She is not in at the present time."

"Oh, well, she is supposed to have a lesson with my son this afternoon. Do you know where she went?" I asked, surprised that the boy could speak English so well.

"She go to the doctor. She is not feeling good." He replied.

"Oh, I hope she is okay."

"I will have her call when she feels better." He said.

"Thank you. Good bye."

"Sayonara." He said and the line disconnected.

Two weeks went by and I found out that Kana's doctors were not able to figure out what was ailing her, so they had sent her home. So, I dragged Greg out of the house and down to the apartment where she lived. When we arrived a small boy, Riku I assumed, allowed us inside and took us back to her room. Inside we saw her laying on the bed, looking absolutely terrible, her husband, Shou, standing beside her, and another man that was looking at Kana. They all looked up when we entered and Shou looked furiously at his son and said something at him. Riku quickly rushed Greg and I out of the room.

"I'm sorry…did we do something wrong?" I asked the boy.

"The doctors could not find out what is wrong with my mother, so my father brought in a…" and here he lowered his voice, "a _buraku_ doctor."

"Buraku?" I questioned, not understanding, and Greg sighed.

"It means, 'small settlement people.' They're outcasts." He explained, then turned to the boy. "Do they really think he can save her?"

"I don't know, but I hope so." Riku replied sadly. Greg and Riku went to the sliding door and cracked it open, watching and listening. I tried to pull them away, but I caught sight of what was going on inside.

The doctor was leaning close, listening to her stomach and chest. He asked a series of questions and Greg translated for me.

"He asked if she has taken anything recently, medicines, herbal remedies, timber logs…wait…" he frowned, "No, I mean, vitamins…"

"She hasn't." Riku continued. "The last thing she took was months ago, before my sister was born. She…had heard that taking fish…fish oil?...Yes, that taking fish oil was good during pregnancy. She stopped after, though."

"He asked if she had eaten any fish since, but..she can't. She says it makes her…skate?"

"Sick. Nauseous." Riku corrected. We watched as the doctor nodded.

"I do not know why he is asking that. If it is important, the other doctors would have asked." Riku said. We watched as a slow grin appeared on the doctor's face and he began to speak. I had to remind Greg to translate for me.

"He figured it out." He said, amazed. "It was the fish oil. She is allergic to it. When she took it, she was pregnant and gaining weight…fish oil is stored in fat cells, and it didn't affect her as much. Besides, she was already pregnant and nauseous, so she wouldn't have noticed anyway. But when she became ill, the doctors thought it was diabetes from the pregnancy and they made her fast. She lost weight and all of the fish oil hit her in big amounts, causing her to be even more sick. He says for her to start eating and gaining some weight and she would be fine." He said. We looked back and saw the husband on his knees, bowing his head onto the ground.

"Arigatou gozaimasu, Sama Sasaki." He repeated over and over.

"He is…thanking him." Greg provided.

* * *

We left soon after, assuring Riku that we would be back to visit when Kana was feeling better. On the walk home, Greg was quiet, contemplative.

"Penny for your thoughts." I said with a smile.

"Did you see how they treated him? A complete stranger and outcast, but they gave him the ultimate in respect when he figured it all out." He said passionately and I nodded. Then, I saw something rare- Greg smiled.

"What?" I questioned.

"I want to be like him. I want to be a doctor."

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay, and the shortness of the chapter, I am doing my best. Please forgive me if something is not right in this chapter, either with the Japanese language/courtesy or the medical stuff. I did my best on researching, but you know how it is. Anyway, thank you those that have reviewed, you bring happiness to my day! To those that haven't reviewed, PLEASE do! Thank you! Oh, and thank you, Lover (you know who you are), for the help in the Japanese department!**_


	9. Lessons by Brock Parks

**A/N: Language and "Adult Content" Warning!**

* * *

**"Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 9**

_**Washington College and Academy**_

_**August 9, 1975- May 19, 1976**_

_**Brock Parks**_

I take great pride in being the one to corrupt young Greg House. House was my roommate in our senior year at boarding school. He was barely 16 when he moved into the dorms. I was almost 18. He was still a bit scrawny when he first came in, with a crew cut hair and a sour look on his face. He wasn't thrilled to be there anymore than anyone else was, but there we were- stuck together. So, I decided to make the best of it. It was that decision that made House the awesome dude he is today.

The first day we met, I was appalled by his lack of decoration or personal belongings. It was 1975; tie dye and beads were everywhere. And here was this kid that had nothing more than button down shirts and pants in an army sack, and a couple of books.

"Hey, man, my name's Brock." I said, shaking hands with him. He gave me a look that said he didn't really care.

"Greg House." He replied coolly.

"House, cool name. Welcome to Washington Hell and Academy, the most boring place on Earth." I said. "What are you? Sophomore, Junior?"

"Senior." He grunted, unpacking his bag.

"Wow, one of those smart ones, huh? Groovy."

"I guess." He said, obviously trying to ignore me. Oh, but I wasn't giving up.

"Cool, man, cool. Look, forget that stuff. Let's go- I'll show you around." I said.

"No thanks, I'll just finish this and figure it out on my own." He said.

"Come on, I need some grub and I'm sure you do, too. That shit can wait." He looked at the half empty bag and sighed, stomach rumbling.

"Fine."

"Excellent! Okay, part one of the tour, please keep all arms and legs in the veh-."

"Let's just get on with it." He said and I frowned.

"Okay, so, this is Clement Dorm, and we are smack in the middle of the campus." I started walking and he followed, rolling his eyes. As we walked across the campus towards the dining hall, I lit a cigarette and offered him one. He looked at it for a second, then shrugged and took one. I could tell he hadn't smoked before and grinned to myself. This was going to be fun.

"So, what kind of music do you like?" I asked as we walked back an hour later. He shrugged. "Come on, you must like something. Lynyrd Skynyrd, Elton John, Hendrix…"

"Never heard of them." He said and my jaw dropped.

"Never heard of them? Oh man, they are great! It's a good thing you came here. You haven't lived!" I said. I clapped him on the back and I saw him flinch.

"Don't do that." He snapped and I backed off.

"Okay, man, cool. Come on."

"Alright, sit back there and listen. Let your real education begin." I said as I put the record on the player and dropped the needle on it. "Lesson one: Music." I watched him closely as the beginning of "Katmandu" come on. I grinned as his foot began to tap to the beat and I could tell that he was hooked immediately. We listened to the greats all afternoon and his lesson continued as we made our way to the dinner hall.

"That was neat!" he said and I cringed.

"Dude, nobody uses, 'neat'. Now it's 'Groovy'." I corrected, wondering what rock he had been hiding under all this time.

"Groovy…got it." He replied, trying the word out. Grinning, I ruffled his short hair and led him on, glad when he only mildly flinched. From then on, whenever we were in the room, the record player was in motion. Oh yeah, he was definitely hooked.

* * *

"Come on." I said late one night, pulling him out of bed.

"What? Where are you going?" he asked, looking confused at the jeans I had thrown at him.

"_We_ are going to your second lesson. Now, get dressed and follow me." I ordered. Tiredly, he followed me out of the window and down the tree outside, then to the forest. Sitting down amongst the trees, I pulled out a couple of joints and handed him one. I lit up as he watched me, inhaled deeply, held it, then slowly released. He tried to copy me, but only came out coughing and gagging and I laughed.

"It takes some getting used to, man. Go easy at first." I instructed and he tried again. A couple of puffs later and he was good to go.

"Whoa….this is great." He said, leaning back.

"Told ya, man. Lesson number two: Mary Jane."

"Cool… Mary Jane. Man, if the army let us have this, I would join."

"No way, man, fuck the military."

"My…My dad is a marine." He said, slightly defensive, then frowned. "He wants me to join."

"Don't do it, man. Become a musician instead."

"Fuck that. I want to be a doctor."

"That is way too much work…" I said and he grinned.

"No way, if you're a doctor, you get lots of money and girls and…and people like you."

"Same with a musician. And you get even more girls I bet."

"True…" he said, then his eyes went wide. "Hey, that's true! True…truuuuuuuue…cool word…True…" I began to laugh, which set him off, too. Oh yeah, we were good.

By the time we got back to the dorm, the munchies had set in and we dove into some cookies that my mother had sent. House was much more relaxed, lounging on the bottom bunk, humming to Jimi Hendrix.

"This is the best music, ever!" he said and I grinned. It was nice to see him not so uptight for a change and I vowed to always have some weed available (which wasn't a problem for me). "So, what's my next lesson, professor?" he asked. I looked at him and shook my head.

"That's an easy one. Lesson number three: clothes." I said and he looked down with a frown.

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Man, you're a square. The jeans are okay, but nothing but button down shirts are boring. Spruce them up. Here, try this on." I said, tossing him a tie-dye shirt. He wrinkled his nose at it.

"You got anything that isn't so…bright?" he asked and I snatched the shirt back. Digging around in the hamper of (mostly) clean clothes, I found a Pink Floyd shirt. He looked at it and nodded.

"Now, I know we have to wear these stupid button-downs during class, but wear that underneath until you get out." I said and he nodded, changing into the shirt. It looked good on him. "Good. Now, I am going to crash out. See ya in the morning."

* * *

"Man, if I have to learn one more page of this shit, I am going to hang myself." I groaned one day. House and I were stuck inside, studying for midterms, while other guys were outside our window, playing outside. "Why aren't they having to study?"

"That's the lacrosse team. They are having try-outs right now." House replied. "They get passed just because they are on the team."

"Maybe we should go out for lacrosse. At least we wouldn't be stuck in here." I said and he looked up.

"Ya know…that isn't a bad idea." He said and we looked at each other, minds whirling and we both grinned.

"Come on! Let's go!"

Two hours later, not only were we hooked, but we had places on the team. They were tentative places, but we were on. Joyously, we returned to our room and began reading up on the subject. We learned it all, front to back. The next day, we magically passed all of our tests.

A couple of weeks later, I was more excited than I had ever been. It was Friday afternoon and we were free for Thanksgiving break. My folks had gone out to Colorado to visit my sister and House's parents were in Europe or somewhere like that. So we were stuck at school. But not that night- oh no, not that night.

"Come on, House. Let's get out of here." I said and he gladly followed, expecting to head to the forest for some herbal relaxation. When I turned towards the edge of campus instead, he frowned.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To your next lesson, man." I replied.

We managed to hitchhike most of the 40 miles and when we arrived at our destination, House's eyes were wide.

"Where are we?" he asked and I clapped him on the back. He had gotten better about not flinching, I noticed.

"Lesson number four: Concerts. Welcome to the Grateful Dead."

"This is amazing." He said as we walked in.

"I was at Cornell U. in '72. Man, that was legendary. Okay, first things first: let's find some chicks." I said and we looked around. It didn't take long to spot a cute blonde and brunette about our ages and we walked over. Leaning close to the blonde's ear, I said, "Hey, Sugar Magnolia, what's your sign?" She turned, looking angry until she saw me, then she smiled as I laid my charms on her.

"Aquarius. You?"

"Libra, baby."

"What about your friend here?" the other girls asked, already grinning at House.

"Um, I'm not sure."

"When's your birthday?"

"June 11."

"Gemini. That's cool, me too." She said.

"So, where are you two camped?"

"Over by the barn. You?"

"Well, we don't actually have anywhere…" I hinted and the girls looked at each other.

"I guess you could hang out with us. If you want." Blonde said. "I'm Lo."

"Lo? Nice name. And are you High?" I asked her friend, who giggled.

"Not yet, but I plan to be soon." She replied, taking House's hand as we began to walk. We followed Lo and her friend, Cass, back to their tents and soon were well on our way to Marijuana-land. As the sun set and the music picked up, Lo and I started to get hot and heavy. Glancing over, I saw House and Cass were not far behind us. Good, House was taken care of, so Lo and I retreated to her tent from some real "Love and Peace."

The next morning, House and I were on our way back to the dorm after having been dropped off at the edge of campus by Lo and Cass.

"So, how did your night go? Looks like you and that chick got kinda close, huh?"

"I guess so. It went…really well." He grinned and I nudged him.

"You got some, didn't ya? Good for you, man. She was hot…"

"Yeah, I guess I did." He said and I suddenly realized something.

"You've never been laid before last night, have you! Hey, congrats, man! Welcome to the good life."

"Thanks, I guess." He said, but I saw his chest puff up just a little.

"Just remember to always have a rubber on." I said as we walked inside.

"Where have you two been?" the R.A. screeched and I sighed.

"Fuck."

"It was totally worth it." House said quietly to me and we proceeded to get reamed by the R.A. Thankfully, House was the master at lying and soon had convinced him that we had just gone for a hike the evening before, got lost, and only then had found our way back. I'm not sure if he really fell for it, but he sent us to our room without another word.

* * *

From then on, House had a new girl nearly every week. He would manipulate them into bed, then dump then for someone new as soon as he could. I couldn't blame him, once a guy got a taste of the Promised Land, he was insatiable. How he managed to even have the energy to stay awake was beyond me, between the girls, lacrosse (he was actually pretty damn good!), college entrance exams, and regular classes. Hell, he barely made it for class photos before he was off again.

As we neared graduation, I saw him start to pull away and clam up. He got testy and sometime downright hateful. I tried to calm him with a little weed, but nothing seemed to help him. He kept snapping at me, or ignoring me entirely. I couldn't understand it, but we had finals to contend with, so I wasn't able to focus on his issues. Then came the last day. His parents were going to be there to pick him up in an hour and he was still packing.

"How the hell did we manage to accumulate this much shit in 9 months?" I asked as we packed.

"I don't know. Is this your shirt or mine?" he asked, holding up a Bob Marley shirt.

"Uh, mine. This one is your though." I replied, tossing him a Pink Floyd shirt.

"No, this is yours." He said, tossing it back.

"Keep it, man."

"I don't want it." He snapped.

"Come on, just keep it. It'll be something for you to remember me by while at University of Michigan."

"I said I don't want it! Jesus, Brock, just keep the damn thing! I don't need to remember you." He yelled and I gritted my teeth.

"Fine." I grunted and walked out, avoiding saying something I would regret. I walked outside to the forest where so many joints had been passed and toked up. By the time I returned, he was gone. I was shocked he hadn't at least said goodbye to me after all we had been though. But, then I noticed the Pink Floyd shirt was gone, in its place was a Grateful Dead shirt from our trip. On it was a note: "Remember me, too."

* * *

A/N: This chapter must be dedicated to my hubby who is the biggest Grateful Dead-Head on the planet! So, that was a little longer and I thought it was fun. I definitely had fun writing it! Hehe. I had to ask my hubby about the music from the 70's, so any mistakes, blame him! So, we are off to college. Here is your chance, readers- anyone in particular that you want to hear from? I will do my best to accommodate, if possible. I know, Cuddy will make an appearance, but is there anyone else? Review! Thanks!

PS: To those of you who noticed my faux pas in the last chapter, I do apologize. To anyone who didn't notice, ignore this note altogether. Thanks!-Loo


	10. Note from the Author

_**A/N: So sorry guys that I haven't posted anything! I have been busy and my muse has forsaken me. I promise I will post a chapter as soon as I can figure out what POV to do it from! I have started it about 6 times so far, but none of them have satisfied me. Bear with me and I will have something for you soon. Thank you for the reviews, though! I love you guys!-Loo**_


	11. Dylan Crandall correct

_A/N: SOOOOOOO sorry that this took so long! Real Life sucks sometimes at giving you time to read and write stories. Anyway, here is the next installment. I __tried__ to make it a little longer for you to make up for the time. Enjoy!_

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 11**

_**John Hopkins University**_

_**August 14, 1976- February 19, 1978**_

_**Dylan Crandall**_

I was a sophomore in college when I saw the flyer for auditions. The band's name was, "The Flying Zippers," and they needed a keyboard player and a drummer. I was fair at the keys, but I was great at the drums, so I decided to give it a shot. They were holding the auditions in Arellano Theatre on the Homewood Campus, and there were already a couple of other guys there. One of them looked and smelled as if he hadn't showered in a few weeks, so I sat beside the other guy. He was young, but other than some peach-fuzz scruff, looked fairly clean cut. He also looked like he was sleeping with his head leaned back and his eyes closed.

"I'm trying for drums." I said nervously to him. He didn't move, so I repeated myself.

"I can hear you just fine, thanks. I'm here for keyboard." He said, not moving.

"Cool, man. Good luck." I said. "My name is Dylan Crandall."

"Greg House." He grunted. I would have shaken his hand, but he still had yet to move or even look at me.

"You ever play in a band before?"

"No."

"I did in high school. God, we were awful- not a single gig. Mostly just played in my buddy's garage." I laughed. "But it was fun and we at least though we were cool."

"I'm sure you were great." He said and I grinned.

"Really? You think?"

"No. I was being sarcastic" he replied, finally opening his eyes as someone called his name. Standing, he glanced at me. "You're one of those gullible types, aren't you?"

"No." I replied and he grinned at me.

"Oh, this is going to be fun." He said and walked inside.

He was in there for only about ten minutes before they called my name. We passed in the hall.

"How did you do?"

"They're renaming the band after me." He said and my jaw dropped.

"Are you serious?" I asked. He just grinned and shook his head, leaving. I realized he had gotten me again and I groaned. Okay, never mind, I had to concentrate on not blowing the audition.

As far as auditions went, mine was pretty good. The three original members were good and we seemed to click pretty well. We played a couple of songs, then I did a short solo. They talked to each other quietly, looking over at me every now and then, then offered me the job right there. I was amazed. I got a share of the profits (not that we expected much), and we would rehearse two nights a week. I quickly agreed and left.

As I walked out of the building, I saw House leaning against a nearby tree, smoking a cigarette. I immediately ran over to him.

"I got it, man! I'm a drummer in a band!" I said, impulsively bear-hugging him. He froze for a moment, then shoved me away roughly.

"Don't ever do that again." He said with a growl and I backed off.

"No problem." I said, nodding. "But, hey, we're in a band together! How cool is that?"

"Yeah, cool." He grunted, flicking his smoke away. "See you Tuesday." He said and walked away.

"Yeah, man. See ya Tuesday." I replied and went my own way. I had to call and tell my parents!

* * *

Our first rehearsal blew me away. We weren't half bad and once everyone found their speed, we actually were pretty good. Pinkie, the band's leader, played guitar; then there was Jones on bass; me on drums; G-man House on keyboard; and finally Snake on the mic. We were far from being ready for a gig, I thought, but Pinkie proudly announced we were scheduled to play that Friday for one of the fraternities. There was a lot of work to do before then.

We rehearsed long into the night and I knew I was going to be sleeping through my first class the next morning. Pinkie finally called an end to rehearsal around 2 in the morning and reminded us that we would be rehearsing again on Thursday. Putting away our instruments, House turned to me.

"I need a ride Friday." He said and I was surprised. "I know you have a car."

"Yeah, man, you can ride with me." I said.

"Don't get so excited, Crandall. It's not a date…unless you want it to be." He said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I quickly backtracked.

"Oh, wait, no….I mean, I have a girlfriend…"

"Relax. You're not my type, either." He said with a grin. "I knew this was going to be fun. Pick me up at Wolman Hall at 6. You can buy me dinner before the show."

"Yeah, sure, man." I laughed and shook my head, leaving.

* * *

Thursday's rehearsal was just as intense as the first and we were all ready to pass out by the time Pinkie called an end to it around 3. I managed to make it to most of my classes the next day, but by the time I picked House up I was ready to crash. The first thing we did was get a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. It wasn't until the coffee kicked in that either of us even felt like speaking.

"My girl, Janet, is supposed to be there tonight. She doesn't know that I am in the band, so it will be a cool surprise." I said. "It'll be nice seeing her again. We've both been so busy for the past couple of weeks, I haven't really seen her at all. She's either got a class or homework or a girl's night out…"

"Or she's cheating on you." House said and I turned to him.

"What? Why would you say that?" I asked, angry at him for implying something like that.

"No college girl is too busy to see their boyfriend."

"She's pre-med. You should know how hard that is. She has to do really well in her classes."

"Then either she is an idiot or she is cheating on you. Nobody's classes ate that hard their freshman year. Hell, I'm sleeping through mine. We aren't even close to finals yet. So, either she is an idiot and struggling already, or she is cheating on you and making up lame excuses to avoid you." He said as we pulled up to the frat house. As we unloaded our gear, I looked at him.

"She's not an idiot." I said. "And she's not cheating on me."

"Whatever you say, man." He replied and walked away. I took a moment to think about what he said, then shook my head. It wasn't right to question the person that you love. He was wrong and tonight would prove it.

The party kicked off at 8 and we were hot. We sounded great and I could see that our fans were enjoying the music. Playing drums, I could easily see the crowd and was constantly watching for Janet, hoping she would see me. Finally, about an hour into our gig, I saw her. She looked beautiful and I tried to wave to her without missing any beat, but she didn't notice me. I knew this was our last song before break, so I just watched her as I played. Glancing over, I saw House and I nodded towards Janet. When I looked back, though, she was gone. I searched the crowd, but didn't see her. She must have gone to the bathroom or to get a drink. Finally, our first set was finished and Pinkie gave us 20 minutes to enjoy the party. I immediately went in search of Janet. She wasn't at the bar, so I went down the hall towards the bathrooms. It was as I was passing one of the bedrooms that I heard it.

"Janet…god, yes, Janet…" a male voice groaned. At first, I figured it was just a coincidence- lots of girls were named Janet. But then I heard her.

"Oh, Billy! Yeah!" There was no doubt that it was my girlfriend. She must have been so ready to jump him that they forgot to lock the door and I burst it.

"What the hell?" the guy yelled, trying to cover himself up, but Janet already had the sheet over her in a death grip. Wow, they worked fast…

"Dylan! What are you doing here?" she asked. "This isn't what it looks like!"

"Isn't what it looks like?" I shot back incredulously. I was going to say more, try to beat the shit out of the guy, but instead, I just shook my head and walked out. I was too stunned and heartbroken to worry about my pride.

I was late getting back to the gig, but I didn't care. I was crushed and drowning my sorrow in cheap beer on the back porch. And that is where House found me.

"You were right. She was cheating on me with some guy named Billy." I said miserably and he handed me another beer, taking a swig from his own. He lit a cigarette and offered me one, which I gladly took.

"I'm guessing that this isn't the time to say I told you so." He replied and I shot him a glare. "Alright, look, she was a bitch. She lied to you, cheated on you, and broke your heart. Get over it. Next time, you won't be so gullible. There will be other girls."

"No way, man. I don't even want to see another chick right now."

"You will. Come on, Pinkie is about to have a seizure if we don't get out there."

"Aw, man, I don't think I can play."

"Of course you can. Come on, being a drummer with a broken heart is the perfect way to pick up girls." He said, pulling me to my feet. I reluctantly followed him, playing half- heartedly throughout the rest of the gig. House must have told everyone what had happened, since no one, not even Pinkie, said anything to me about being late.

After we were finished, House wanted to stick around for a while to hit on girls. I just wanted to go home, but he promised only an hour, so I gave in. I sat in the corner, nursing beer, waiting on him. I saw him occasionally, dancing and having a good time with one of the cheerleaders on campus and I envied him. Just as I was about to leave, with or without House, someone came up to my corner.

"You're just about the saddest looking drummer I've ever seen." Said the girl and I looked up. She was beautiful and I instantly felt memories of Janet pass from my mind. "My name is Kylie."

"Hi….I'm…um, I'm Dylan." And that was all it took.

* * *

Kylie and I saw each other almost every day for the rest of the semester and over Christmas break. It was great and I was in my prime. I had a great girlfriend, was in a band, and- although my grades weren't all that great- I was at least passing most of my classes. Kylie was wonderful- funny, social, and came to all of our gigs. She would even sit in on rehearsals sometimes and most of the guys seemed to like her. We were halfway through the next semester when I came to a conclusion.

"I think I'm in love." I said to House, who rolled his eyes.

"You are not." He replied. "If anything, you're in lust."

"No way, man. She's perfect."

"Did you learn nothing with Janice?"

"Janet." I corrected. "And Kylie is different."

"Sure she is."

"I'll prove it to you. Double date with us on Saturday. Are you still seeing that cheerleader? We can catch a movie and dinner." I said and he pondered it for a while.

"Fine. But you're paying for the movie."

"No problem. We'll pick you two up around 7."

"You girls done flirting or should we give you some privacy?" Pinkie asked and I threw one of my drumsticks at him, laughing.

That Saturday, Kylie and I picked up House and his date in front of the dorm. Her name was Aurora and she seemed nice enough. She and Kylie hit it off almost immediately and the stood to one side talking while House and I waited in line for the movie tickets.

"So, how did you and Greg meet?" Kylie asked.

"Oh, we met at some party last semester, then I ran into him about a week later. He was so sweet. I was running late for practice and dropped all of my gear. He picked it up for me and offered to walk me to practice."

That was nice."

"Yeah, it was. When we got there, we found out that one of our male cheerleaders had quit. So, Greg offered to join." Aurora said and my jaw dropped. Before I could say anything, though, House had grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me close.

"One word to anyone and I will drown you in your own blood. And, I'm pre-med. I know how to do it and leave no evidence." He said and I just grinned.

"No problem, man. Your secret is safe with me." I promised, but couldn't help but laugh as we walked into the movie. "Give me an H, give me and O-ouch!"

The movie was good and we talked about it as we headed to a little Italian restaurant a couple of blocks away. I tried to hold Kylie's hand as we walked, but she just let go and fell back to walk beside House and Aurora. I didn't take it personally, she was having a good time and had made friends with my buddy and his girl. What was there to be angry about? House, however, moved up to talk to me.

"Want to hold my hand instead?" he asked and I rolled my eyes.

"It's no big deal. So she wants to talk to Aurora. I understand."

"Yeah, that's why she move to my side and not to Aurora's." he replied. "Look, I think you should back off a little."

"What? Why?"

"Man, she is sending you mixed signals. She lets you buy stuff, but doesn't want to hold your hand? What is she going to do after you give her a big, fat engagement ring? Refuse to be in the same room with you?"

You're blowing this all out of proportion. She just wanted to talk to-."

"She also pulled away when you tried to put the moves on her in the movie."

"So?"

"Crandall, you're being gullible again."

"I am not. Look, I appreciate your concern, but Kylie is great and I love her. Just, back off."

"Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you though." He said, opening the door to the restaurant and almost smacking me in the face with it.

* * *

He did back off, much to my surprise. We still hung out during rehearsals and he still rode with me to gigs. Kylie only came up in casual conversation, especially when he broke up with Aurora (he had found some other chick, apparently…he did that a lot in the time I knew him. And he was sick of being a cheerleader, I think). One day, we arrived at rehearsal a little early. I was excited because I had found a new record that I thought he might like.

"Hey, listen to this." I said. I started the record and watched him as the music began. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him

"Who is this?" he asked as the first song came to a close.

"Jessie Baker. He's good, isn't he?"

"Good? I'd give my right hand for his left. He's great." House replied.

"Man, I'd love to meet him. I bet he is cool, ya know?" I said and he nodded noncommittally.

"I guess." We listened for a while longer until the rest of the guys arrived. But after that, we listened to that record before every rehearsal. I was glad to have found someone else that appreciated jazz as much as I did.

* * *

"I think I'm ready." I said one day as we sat listening to the record for the thousandth time.

"To lose your virginity? Yeah, I think it's time."

"No, asshole. To ask Kylie to marry me."

"You never learn, do you?"

"Don't start that crap again, man."

"Come on, Crandall. Have you ever even bumped uglies with her yet?"

"Yes!" I lied. Truthfully, Kylie had told me that she wanted to wait until marriage to lose her virginity. He looked at me with that knowing look of his and shook his head. "Look, I want to ask her, but I don't know what she will say."

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Would you talk to her for me?"

"And say what?"

"I don't know! Ask her what she thinks of me and if she has considered marrying me." I said, assuming he would just brush me off. To my surprise, he thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

"Really?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Thanks, man!"

I must have smoked two packs of smokes that evening while House talked to Kylie up in her room. It took what seemed like days, but finally they came out and Kylie was smiling. She reapplied her lipstick, said something to House, then left. I quietly called to him and he walked over to the side of the building with me, lighting up and taking a long drag before saying anything.

"Dump her." He said and my jaw dropped.

"What?"

"She…made a pass at me. She doesn't love you. Dump her." He repeated and I sat down.

"I can't believe this! I can't believe she would do that to me! What did she do?" I asked and he looked around uncomfortable.

"Just…look, she blew it, man. I asked her what she thought of you, talked about you the whole time, and she was pretty clear that she doesn't want to marry you." He replied and I shook my head, miserably.

"That's it. I'm done with women. They do nothing but break your heart and suck the life out of you."

"I agree." He said in a weird tone, but I didn't care. "Come on, forget about her. Let's go out and get drunk and listen some more to that record of yours."

"I just want to be left alone. See ya." I said and walked away.

* * *

I drowned myself in alcohol from then on. I ended up quitting the band, much to Pinkie's anger, and I quit school. I was sick of everything. I still saw House from time to time, he even came to check on me once and I ended up giving him a ride to some gig, but he couldn't convince me to go inside. Finally, I gave up and just moved away. I went to New Orleans in search of Jessie Baker, hoping to meet him. House and I kept in contact through mutual friends, and then email when it came out, but I never expected to really see him again. My trip to New Orleans, however, would change that years later when I found out that I had a daughter…

* * *

_A/N: Okay, guys, what did you think? I will try and get the next chapter up soon, though I have to figure out how to do it. The writers of the show kind of messed up (which I will explain in the future when the time is right), so I am not sure how the next chapter or two will play out just yet. Anyway, Reviews are wonderful for my muse! Thank you to those that have reviewed already! -Loo_


	12. Phillip Weber

"**Angel of Music"**

**Chapter 12**

_**John Hopkins University**_

_**August 21, 1979- May 15, 1982**_

_**Phillip Weber**_

I hated House from the first time I saw him. We were in the same year, both accepted into John Hopkin's Medical School. I had seen him around campus, even had a class or two with him during undergrad. The only reason I noticed him was because of the loud snoring coming from the corner whenever he graced us with his presence. It amazed me even then that the professors put up with it. I never imagined that he would be accepted into med school, and yet there he was the first day of class with me in Medical Terminology.

I tried to sit as far away as possible, but I was always one of the last students to arrive since I had a class right before. This meant that I was always in the back of the room, near him. He always took the very back corner seat, closest to the door. All the good students, the ones who actually cared about their grades, tried to get as close to the teacher as possible. Just like the undergrad classes, he slept whenever he did actually show up. I tried not to let it bother me. Med school was hard even for the diligent studiers. There was no way he would make it past the first semester.

When mid-terms came around, I stayed up all night for days studying. I don't think there was an empty seat in the medical library. The only time I left was for more coffee or the occasional quick bite to eat.

Once, I went back to the dorm to grab a forgotten notebook and I saw him. It was the day before our mid-term and I was surprised to see him not studying. He was sitting out in front on a table, smoking a cigarette and singing some silly song. I didn't say anything, but he noticed me anyway and yelled out.

"Hey! Weber! Out for a late night stroll?" he asked with a giggle. My god…he was drunk!

"Hardly." I sneered. "I just forgot my notebook."

"Oooooh, can't forget that notebook. You might forget how to spell au…auto…autonomic dys…dysreflexia." He slurred and I rolled my eyes. Why was I even talking to him?

"Whatever, House. I've got to go." I said. I've got studying to do."

"Why bother? Your daddy will just fix any lousy grades that you get, anyway. Take it easy." He replied and I turned to him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please, as if everybody doesn't already know. How else would you have passed Trigonometry last year? You suck at math and you barely cracked a book during that whole class. And I happen to know that your daddy is paying your entire tuition, plus a hefty allowance to you, every semester. He also came down to visit at the end of finals last semester, and yet it wasn't you he saw. It was Professor Dykes, the Trig teacher. Magically, you came out with an 'A'."

"Shut up, House. My dad does not pay for my grades. I have to go, now. See you at the final….or not." I spat and walked away, fuming. He tried to follow, but ended up tripping over his own two feet, landing in the grass with a thud. Of course, I knew he was right. My father had gone to see Dykes and I did get an 'A' in the class. But I needed that 'A' to get into med school! Who cares how I got it? I stormed into my room, snatched the notebook, and left. When I walked past him outside, he was still laying on the ground, blowing smoke rings into the air. Shaking my head, I walked past him and went back to the library.

The test went well enough, as did my other classes. I waited anxiously for the grades to be posted and finally, a week later, they were. It didn't take long to find my name- I was number two in the class. Out of curiosity, I looked to see who was number one.

"Sonofabitch!" I yelled angrily and stormed away.

_#1- Gregory House- GPA 3.98_

* * *

I avoided him even more for the rest of the semester. I literally ran to class so I could get a better seat every time, I used the back entrance to the dorm, and if I saw him on campus I turned and walked the other way. I just couldn't believe that he was top of the class. How was it even possible? Maybe he was bribing the professors, too…there was just no other way. Nobody could be that smart! Especially not Gregory House.

Finals come all too soon when you're a med student. Mid-terms suddenly seemed like a joke. There was no sleeping, no eating, no talking- just huge amounts of caffeine (which by then you finally understood just what damage that caffeine was doing to your body and you didn't care) and studying. All night, all day, studying and nothing else. I vowed to myself that I would be top of the class this time, no doubt about it. I would just have to make a quick call to Father if I didn't do well.

I took the full two hours allowed for each exam. They were much more difficult than I could have even dreamed, and it was very difficult to concentrate with House only a couple of seats down. He finished in half the time and arrogantly strolled down and handed the professor his test.

I stayed on campus until the scores came out. I did well- all 'A's' except for one B. No matter, I would just call Father and have that fixed. I quickly did the math to figure out my GPA once that 'B' was taken care of. It took a couple of tries and some scratch paper, but I finally had it. 3.94. I checked the roster. Once again, I was number 2, and once again, I cursed.

#1- Gregory House. GPA- 3.97

* * *

Holiday break was not enjoyable. My father was very angry that he had to bribe yet another professor, but the grade was fixed, anyway. The holiday passed too quickly and I soon found myself registering for classes again. They were all on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I went to each class with trepidation, hoping none would have House in them. I was doing until my last class- Pharmacology. Sure enough, there he was in the back corner, grinning at me. I shot him a glare and sat down. Damn. Okay, well, at least it was just one class. Besides, I have and ace up my sleeve. I had applied over the holiday for the Mayo Clinic Scholarship. I knew I would get it, and when I did it would be a very nice feather in my proverbial cap that House did not have. I just had to wait for the acceptance letter.

I didn't hear back from them until well after midterms, but I had other things to deal with in the mean time. House didn't come to class very often, which was nice. I also didn't see him on campus very much, either. If I did, he was usually with a girl of something equally unproductive. I waited for the perfect time to shove the scholarship in his face. Finally, the day came. I got the letter in the mail and ripped it open right there in the Center. "Dear Mr. Weber, Thank you for applying…blah blah blah…Regret to inform you…."

"Oh, you applied, too." Said a voice form behind me and I turned. Of course it was House. "Yeah, I got mine last week. Strange you got yours so late."

"Yeah, strange." I muttered, tossing the letter into the trash.

"I guess they only take their time if you don't win the scholarship." He said with a smirk. I started to nod, then it sank in.

"No way. No way did you, of all the losers out there, get the Mayo Clinic."

"Top of the class, remember? Guess you should have had Daddy bribe them, too. Next time, I am sure you will remember." He said and walked away.

I was still seething when finals arrived. None of this was fair. I lost interest in my studies after that, although I still studied. I didn't care about helping people anymore (of course, that was never really why I was in it to begin with). I did what I had to do to get through the classes and into the finals. Pharmacology was last. I swear House sat beside me on purpose. I didn't say anything to him, just waited for the test to be passed out.

"Good luck. Hope you know your stuff." House said, handing me the packet. I just took it without looking at him and began.

The test was kicking my ass. I hadn't studied nearly as much as needed and now I was paying for it. To make matters worse, House seemed to be getting closer and closer to me. Glancing over, I realized why. His eyes were glued to my paper. So, that was how he had been doing so well! He was cheating! I finished my test and turned it in, speaking quietly to the professor for a moment. As I was leaving, I looked back at House and grinned. He saw me, frowned back, and I walked out.

I didn't see House again at school. All I know is I jumped to the top of the class and a week later I received a letter from the Mayo Clinic. They had miraculously reconsidered their decision and decided to award me the scholarship. Well, lookie there. The next semester I found out that House had been kicked out. All I can say is I am glad I wouldn't have to see him again for another 20 years.

* * *

**_A/N: Okay, short but sweet. It may sound rushed, I tried not to do that, but I know a lot of people are anxious for me to get to the Cuddy stuff. Well, it may take a little bit of time, but oh yeah- Huddy is next! WOO-HOO! Anyway, please please please review. The more reviews I get, the faster I will post the next chapter (hint hint! Lol!). Oh, and the rating may go up for the next chapter. I dont know- what do you think? Keep it semi-family-friendly or go the the Mature Audiences only? Thanks guys!_**


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